


Burr's Side of the Bed

by superbcandyangel



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Infidelity, Implied/Referenced Sex, Introspection, M/M, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-10 00:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18927850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superbcandyangel/pseuds/superbcandyangel
Summary: Burr reflects on partners past and present, with Hamilton asleep by his side.





	Burr's Side of the Bed

The sheet pulled taut at his waist as Alexander shifted beside him. He let his eyes flutter closed. The ebbing afterglow was hazy over his mind, and he waited out his still pounding heart. The room smelled of candle wax and the night shadows crept lazily across the ceiling.

Burr looked over to his face, musing over how calm he looked in sleep. It had been a long time since he'd been in this position. Theo was always awake long after he was. When they'd first landed in bed together, he'd been worried he was unsatisfactory, but she assured him she'd simply found herself on a different schedule. Not altogether soothed but reluctant to pursue the issue, he accepted her answer. It was easier. No, the last opportunity he'd had to admire a partner, unhindered by silly things like consciousness, was much further back.

He heard Jonathan's voice echoing in his mind, and smiled despite the soft ache it brought. "Aaron, you're overthinking this. Did that feel good?"

It had. It had felt so good with him. The feeling of his heart beating in his palms as he held him, tender and utterly adoring. He had committed every inch of that attic to memory before they'd outgrown it. From the dust motes kicked into the too bright sun when they so much as moved, to the lines drawn in their thighs by the exposed rafters, he could almost feel Jonathan's lips, his skin on his own.

With the memory came a sharper pang, and all the reasons he didn't make this a habit came rushing back. His brow knit together as he recalled the letters, locked away to prevent this very thing. He hadn't told him when he went off to war. Jonathan would've been the only one who could talk him out of it. 

He raised a hand to his face and touched edging tears. He chuckled, despite himself, and blinked them away. His chest rose and fell with a careful breath, and he swallowed down the lump in his throat. 

Further along than that, he'd found himself under a commanding officer. More than under, he supposed. Montgomery hadn't so much bedded him as bent him over the nearest desk and had his way. That's not to say Burr ever resisted his– could they even be called advances? If they could, it's only under the guise of a general's tactics. What happens in wartime stays on the battlefield, and all that.

General Montgomery had had something of a power fetish. He craved the feeling of utter dominance, which Burr was more than happy to oblige. When tensions were high, he might be escorted, cordially, back to the makeshift office. He would drape himself or be draped over the General's lap, his chair, or whatever was closest, and get fucked into submission. This is to say nothing of his submission beforehand, for that was a different matter altogether.

Every so often, which really was so often in this case, he'd be asked to whom he belonged. His responses ranged from, "I'm yours, sir," to, "All yours, sir, only yours, dear god please." On one memorable occasion, feeling particularly daring, he told him, "I'm your unpaid whore." He'd lain in the medical tent for two days straight for that one. That'd taught him to keep his mouth shut. Or, rather, to keep his smart mouth shut and leave his warm, pliant one open for business. Life lessons, right?

He looked over to Alexander's sleeping face, and marveled.


End file.
